When Reality Hits
by briannna-nicole
Summary: Lydia Martin had it all: money, popularity, the captain of the lacrosse team... But when she gets paired with Stiles Stilinski for a semester-long project, her perfect little world takes a drastic turn. Suddenly, Lydia is faced with the burning reality of who she is and who she wishes to become.


Life isn't supposed to be so _light_ all the time. Fortunately for me, mine was. Then again, everything about my life always seemed to be abnormal. I was only seventeen and it was like my life was already planned out: I was going to Yale—not because I was smart enough to actually get in, but because I was a _Martin_ , and being a Martin meant getting privileges that not everyone got. It meant getting free passes when you acted up, it meant getting your choice of who you wanted to date, and most importantly, it meant getting opportunities that you really didn't deserve. And it was all because I had money and I could. In fact, when I was just eight years old, my father paid for me to be a finalist in the Miss California Junior Pre-Teen pageant. Despite the fact that I was in the ugliest dress on the stage—it was green, but not like the sleek, pretty shade of green, more like the shade of peas after your mouth reverberates them back up, and it had stars splattered all over it—or that I really didn't have much of a talent, unless rattling off the amount of designer dresses I owned in record time counted, it was considered adequate enough. Contrary to how it appears, though, my upbringing was what really grounded me—well for the most part.

My thoughts were interrupted by the quiet taps of a pen. A voice quickly followed. "Everyone, find a seat," it said. It was Mr. Anderson, the psychology teacher at Beacon Hills High School. He was one of those teachers who kept a low profile; he wasn't known for being stricter than the rest, or for being looser, really, but he did have a reputation for being a kissass. He was, however, quite young and fairly handsome with a lean figure and dark, compelling eyes. His short hair matched his brown eyes, and it flowed completely effortlessly. Whenever I passed him in the hallway, he always had a frown plastered on his face. He looked like the unhappiest man in the world, almost as if he had so much going on in his life at all times, a concept I was quite unfamiliar with.

"I'm just going to cut to the chase: you will have a project right off the bat," Mr. Anderson began, "and before you all start to moan and complain, there is a purpose to it. You will work in pairs," almost instantly you could see people looking among one another and mouthing the words "you're with me" to each other. "And to clarify, _I'm_ choosing the pairings." Now the moans came. The people who once had a smile didn't anymore. Frowns were seen everywhere. Just like that the entire class looked exactly like the teacher standing in front of us. "Yes, it's going to be a semester-long deal. It won't be something that you complete in two weeks, it'll take a little bit more effort than that."

"Can you just tell us what this is about and let us calculate how much effort we _really_ have to put in?" somebody in the back of the room yelled, already annoyed at the mention of a project on the first day. Of course it was Jackson, my boyfriend. Mr. Anderson nodded.

"Of course Mr…."

"Whittemore, Jackson Whittemore." He was very handsome, perhaps one of the better looking in our school. He has blonde, sandy hair that spikes up by his forehead due to the crazy amount of gel he applies each morning. To add to that, he has a nice solid build. He has the image of a stereotypical jock, and it fits, since he is the captain of the Beacon Hills lacrosse team. We had a famous lacrosse team. At our school, lacrosse is equivalent to what football is at almost any other school. We _live_ for lacrosse games, well, at least I do.

"Okay Mr. Whittemore, I was just getting to that. A big portion of this class will be focused on misconceptions, generalizations, and stereotypes. Our brains are wired to make judgments, which is why it's not uncommon to do so when we look at somebody for the first time. For this assignment, we will study the way we view a person before we get to know them, as we get to know them, and after we get to know them. We are going to understand the misconceptions we have about people and if that changes once we get to know them." He walked behind his desk, centered perfectly at the top of the room. He carefully scuffled through piles of papers before he found a manila folder. He opened it and scanned through the few packets of papers he had clumped together. He continued, "in order to do that, you each are going to need to spend outside time with your partner and thoroughly get to know them. You will be doing a handful of activities for at least an hour per meeting and then you'll complete worksheets and charts corresponding to what you have discovered about each other." If there were a lot of groans before, it was nothing compared to the amount now.

Everyone's eyes went wide at the pure thought of spending quality time with somebody they didn't know. It wasn't out of shyness, more out of the possibility that they would get paired with somebody they didn't like, or even worse, somebody who would threaten their social standing. "Now you don't have to marry this person, they don't have to be your best friend or anything, all I'm asking is that you tolerate them for the sake of this social experiment. If not, it's _your_ grade."

I looked back at Jackson and raised an eyebrow, saying "this is so stupid" in minimal words _._ He rolled his eyes in what I assumed to be agreement.

Immediately Mr. Anderson started to think over partnerships, looking at the class list as he did so, before eventually spatting out names. "Natalie, you go with Tenley. I want Keith with Rosa, Jackson with Justin…" He continued on until there were only two left. I gulped. "Lydia, I guess that leaves you with Stilinski."

Instantly, Jackson snapped. It was almost as if he was just waiting for something to strike him the wrong way so that he had an excuse when he did. "You _guess_? Shouldn't you be sure who you pair together for an assignment spanning the length of the semester?" Jackson questioned. It was quite apparent just how flustered Jackson really was. "I mean, sorry, shouldn't you be pairing people who complement each other?" Realizing what he said and how he said it, Jackson tried to reel himself in.

"And how would I do that? It's the first day Whittemore. Now if you can't deal with who I paired you with, or whoever, you can just take the E." Jackson shook his head and waved him off. "That's what I thought."

"Now I want you to fill these out tonight," he said, handing out half slips of paper to each person. "This is just a quick couple of questions to make sure you and your partner aren't familiar with each other in any way, shape, or form. If so, I'll arrange accordingly." Immediately, my mind started to turn.

* * *

I walk into the lunch room with a plastic bag tied gently in a knot, hanging against my hip. I carefully scan the room until my eyes lay on an empty table in the back. It's barely brushed against the window located on the right wall. I place my plastic bag on the top of the table and sit down in opposition of the window, organizing my lunch on the table. I reach into the bag and take out a salad topped with tomatoes, peppers, cheese, and Italian dressing, all prepared in separate containers, just like they always are. I lay out an apple and a bottle of water next to it.

Shortly after, Allison, Kira, and Hayden join me at the table. "Hey Lyd," Allison says, coming up from behind and giving me a tight squeeze. "Long time no see."

I laugh. "Yeah, it's been a whole, what, three hours?" I pretend to look at the non-existent watch on my wrist. "So how are all of your guys' classes so far?" I ask, looking at no one in particular.

"They're okay I guess. Liam's not even in one yet," Hayden chimes with a slight frown on her face. Liam was her longtime boyfriend, depending on what you consider long. They were both freshmen, while Allison, Kira, and myself were all juniors. "But that's okay, he-"

"…has lunch with you." Liam finishes, kissing her cheek and sitting down on the left side of her. She smiles. They quickly enter into their own conversation, muttering away about how unfair it is that their friends could go out for lunch and they couldn't. I chuckle at the thought.

"So is your first day going well Miss Queen Bee?" I roll my eyes. I inherited the 'Queen Bee' nickname after I won a spelling bee in the seventh grade. To be fair, the kid who was expected to win got a bloody nose, which he coincidentally got every time he was up in front of a crowd of over twenty people.

I crinkle my nose, "eh…" I look over at my friends hoping I wouldn't have to elaborate, but it's clear by the raised eyebrows and the curious expressions that I don't have a choice. "Mr. Anderson assigned us a project, a semester-long project."

"So glad I opted out of that class…" Kira admits, laughing. I give her a dirty look.

"Yeah. It's all about stereotypes and how what we see with someone is not always what we get." Allison rolls her eyes and I continue, "yeah, I know. And the worst part about it is that he assigned us partners; partners whom we have to hang out with a number of times."

"Oh yeah? Well, who's your partn-" I glare at her. She must've assumed something because she instantly asks, "is he cute?"

"What? Allison, no, stop!" My cheeks turn a color between bright red and rosy pink, all adding to the warmth my face already felt. "It's Stiles."

Before I had time to say anything else, he was walking towards me with a tall, dark, dimpled boy on his side. He quietly walks up to me, leans down into my ear, and whispers "can we talk?" I nod, allowing him to pull me behind a pole. His friend stays behind, apparently to talk to Allison, who I saw blushing out of the corner of my eye. I raise my eyebrows, curious as to why he needed to talk to me.

"I know we're paired together for this assignment and all…" I mumble a 'hm' in between breaths, motioning for him to continue on. "But if there's a problem, if you don't think this would be good, or if Jackson doesn't, I can just write down on the paper that we're friends…" He eyed me, and must've seen my look of confusion because he quickly adds "or not friends! Just that we, um, like know each other from past classes or something…"

"Hold on a minute, alright? What is this all about?"

"I just saw how upset Jackson looked and I really don't want to get between whatever you guys are-"

"We're _together_ ," I add quickly. I wasn't sure if that was supposed to be a correction or a warning.

"Right. I just don't want this to be a problem." He motioned between us.

"Who said it's going to be?"

"I mean, nobody, Jackson just looked pretty threatened when we were paired-I mean, not threatened by me, but just because you were being paired with another guy." Stiles explains. One of his hands was caught up in his hair as he spit the words out.

"Who looks flustered now?" I mockingly laugh, pushing a loose strand of hair behind my ear. "Stiles, it's fine, okay? Don't worry about it… It just sounds like a waste of time trying to convince Anderson. We'll get through this stupid project, Jackson will be fine, and that'll be it. He can handle me having to hang out with, sorry, but the least-threatening guy around, for the sake of an assignment." He raises his eyebrows, looking a tad offended, and walks off mumbling an okay.

"I said sorry!" I yell, snickering as I walk back to the table. The truth is I considered agreeing to Stiles proposition, in fact, I thought of it earlier, but I came to the conclusion that it wouldn't be such a bad idea, making Jackson jealous, that is. If he can sucker up a bit of insecurity in me by flirting with other girls, then maybe I can do the same. After all, it was harmless.

I look back at where Allison and the one boy with the puppy dog face stood, only to notice that Stiles' friend joined him in his absence. I glance over at Allison only to see her grinning like a schoolgirl. "What's going on with you?" Although I already know, I decided to ask anyways. "It's that kid you were talking to, isn't it?"

"Scott," Kira corrected, confirming what I already knew but refused to admit. "She has the hots for him." I look over at Allison carefully, raising one of my eyebrows.

She glares at Kira. "I do not! He's just really sweet." Underneath the serious face she has plastered on her face, I can see the hint of a smile just barely peeking out.

"Have you talked to him before?"

"I mean, he's in my calculus class. But no, not exactly. I saw him earlier," she admits. I look at her and can see on her face that she has something to say but she's trying to decide if it's worth saying.

"Allison, I've known you since the second grade, spit out whatever you have to say." Actually, it's quite a story how we met. Our second grade teacher, Ms. Lisa, had divided the class into five separate tables. We were coloring a picture of the sky and I didn't have the right shade of blue. I looked around the room and saw Allison coloring with just the shade I needed. So I pulled her hair, grabbed it out of her hand, and ran away frantically. Needless to say, I didn't get away with it, but since that day, Ms. Lisa had made sure we were always at the same table. We quickly became inseparable. Kira didn't come to the district until high school, where she wiggled her away into our tight group of friends. Hayden, on the other hand, we've known since middle school. All four of us are so close that people refer to us as the four musketeers.

"You know how on almost every TV show, when the new girl sees a cute guy sitting across the room, how they share this intense moment of longing?"

I nod. "You mean like the cliché 'we have instant chemistry and should just fuck already' look?"

She looks at me with squinted eyes, where I can detect a bit of insecurity in what she's about to say. I gesture with my hands for her to go on. "Um, yeah sure… Well that's kind of what we had," I raise my eyebrows. "Minus the 'I want to fuck you' part." She adds and I laugh.

"So you don't want to… Hm, interesting…" Kira questions.

"I mean, I do, just not…" She trails off, realizing she's not convincing anyone. She slaps her hand on her face and leaves it there for awhile.

"So, are you guys like, going to go out or something?" The black-haired girl asks. Kira is attempting to get the extent of their relationship out, because nothing usually remains a secret from the group.

"Well no, we just met. But, I mean, you all know math is my weakest subject, right?" We all nod. "Well I just thought, maybe when it starts coming down hard, I can ask him to tutor me… Would that be too awful?"

"No, not at all, not if your intentions are pure." I squint, trying to reason how believable that is. Deciding on a justification, I speak, "you guys would make really cute babies." She hits me for bringing it up again, and for the rest of the period, we talk about a variety of subjects, and the only thing that remains constant is the sound of our laughs.

* * *

When the bell finally rings and the sound of kids swarming the door hits my ears, all I can do is smile. I missed this. I missed running to Jackson's car immediately when school got out. I missed when he would drive me home every day that he didn't have practice. But more than anything, I missed those days when we would skip class and go play lacrosse with his friends. Our relationship was pretty normal: we talked, we dated, we kissed… Everything that most couples did, just on super speed. We were already messing around by the second week, it was a rather fast process, but that was just us. Slow never really existed in our relationship.

I try to open the car door only to find it locked and empty. I look around, confused. Jackson was always in the car waiting for me when school let out, and considering it's been ten minutes since the last bell rang, I was extremely confused. I check my phone, nothing. No calls, no texts. _He must just be running late,_ I thought. When I turn around again, I spot him all the way across the parking lot, walking towards me… With his arm draped around another girl. My eyes narrow. I look away and pretend not to notice. He walks right by me to the driver's side, unlocks the door, and gets in without a word. It's a form of greeting that I'm not familiar with. He always greets me with kisses.

As soon as I get into the car, I ask him what's wrong. He says nothing. I ask him again. Still nothing. "Jackson, talk to me! What did I do?" I beg, desperate for a response.

"Seriously Lydia?! I saw you… I saw you with Stilinski in the lunch room. Your face was beaming with laughter." I think back to just a few hours ago. It was an innocent laugh, a mocking laugh even.

"Jackson, he's my partner, that's it. He was freaking out because…" I trail off, thinking of how to word it without offending his already sensitive soul. "Because he was worried about how it would affect you, how it would affect _us_." Jackson turns to face me and I can see the anger start to dissipate.

But just like that it's back. "That doesn't explain anything!"

Suddenly, I'm as angry as he is. One thing I _can't_ deal with is accusations. "You're mad because I was laughing at the poor kid, yet you can walk to the car with a little slut in your arms?" I erupt, throwing my arms up in the air. The look in his eyes is intimidating, I back down submissively. "I'm sorry Jackson."

"Shut up," I hear him mumble. I do.

We drive the rest of the way in silence. When he parks in my driveway, I unbuckle my seatbelt and prepare to get out when he speaks again. "Do you know how many girls throw themselves at me? And do you know how many I shake off for the sake of not hurting your precious little feelings?"

"That's kind of what you do when you're in a relationship Jackson." I shake my head in disbelief. "I don't know what this is, or who you are, but I don't need this."

What he says next stuns me, "you're lucky to have me. You don't deserve somebody like me." I turn to him, hoping he's not serious. My mouth gapes open, but only for a second before I quickly close it, praying he doesn't notice.

I look at him and gulp back the tears. "I'm sorry." I open the door, grab the books that I apparently threw in the back during our fight, and walk towards the house. I unlock the door in a rush and walk inside. The last thing I see is Jackson punching the wheel before speeding off. He hates it when I leave the conversation with the last word, even if it is an apology. I laugh before the tears start to flow.


End file.
